Silver Shadows (Bloodlines #5)(62)
Author: Richelle Mead

It was all good data, but it suddenly seemed lacking when Eddie asked, “Have you heard from Sydney?”

Marcus’s face, which had momentarily seemed upbeat, fell again. “No. We’ve been out of contact for two nights.”

“We don’t need to make contact to raid the place, though, right?” asked Trey. “We can just show up and bust her out.”

“Sure,” Marcus agreed, “but it would be nice to have a contact on the inside as this goes down.”

I slumped down onto one of the room’s narrow beds, which creaked under my weight. “And it would just be nice to know she’s okay.”

“Too bad there’s no one else we can contact,” said Eddie. “You don’t have any leads on other prisoners there?”

Marcus shook his head as he explained what they knew, and the old familiar despair started to settle over me. Plunging into sobriety and using spirit daily was a deadly combination for my mood swings, and I’d been fighting them constantly. Sydney’s latest disappearance had sort of shattered whatever fine control I’d held on to until this point. It’d be a wonder if my sanity lasted until we got her back.

Sanity’s overrated, my darling, I heard Aunt Tatiana say.

I squeezed my eyes shut. Go away, I silently told her. I need to listen to them.

What’s the use? she asked.

I need to focus. I need to get in touch with Sydney to make sure she’s okay and get info about what’s going on inside.

Your human girl has already given you info, the phantom Aunt Tatiana said. You just haven’t heeded it.

I suddenly opened my eyes. “Duncan,” I said out loud. My three friends looked in me in astonishment.

“Are you okay?” asked Eddie, who’d occasionally seen some of my worse sides.

“Duncan,” I repeated. “One of the times I talked to Sydney, she mentioned a friend she’d made there named Duncan, someone who’d been there a while. If we can find out his name, get a picture . . . it’d be enough for me to form a dream bond. Assuming the gas is out for him too.” I wasn’t clear on the logistics of what Sydney had disabled. “Regardless, it’s not a common name. Could you pull up anything?”

Marcus frowned. “Maybe . . . depending on how long ‘a while’ is, one of the ex-prisoners joining us tomorrow might even know him.”

“Then call them,” I said sternly. “Now.”

“If Sydney’s not in touch because that gas is back on, you won’t be able to get to him either,” warned Marcus.

I held up my hands in exasperation. “What other choice do we have?”

I could tell he thought it was a long shot, but a few phone calls soon yielded results from one of his guys—the one who was a girl. “She said when she was being held last year, there was a guy named Duncan Mortimer there,” Marcus told us a little while later. He was already on his laptop, typing as he spoke. “No guarantee it’s the same guy, but the odds seem good. Mortimer’s a well-known name. I wonder . . .”

He didn’t elaborate on what he was wondering and soon found a file on Duncan, including a picture and a few brief stats. Most spirit users wouldn’t have been able to form a dream bond to someone they’d never met, and I again felt that occasional flash of pride at being able to do something worthwhile. When I was satisfied I had all the data I needed on him, we switched gears and spent the rest of the day poring over Marcus’s intel about the facility itself. I didn’t have the tactical mind the others had, but I did have the considerable power of spirit on my side and was able to advise on where I thought that would be useful.

When night—and what I termed “re-education bedtime”—came around, I first tried reaching out to Sydney and again had no luck. That put us at plan B, and I pulled Marcus into the dream. He’d gone to sleep earlier for this very reason. As the mastermind of our break-in, it was essential he speak to Duncan. Marcus materialized by the Getty Villa fountain, examining his arms and hands as though he’d never seen them.

“It never gets old,” he remarked. “You sure you can pull this guy in?”

“One way to find out.”

I’d spent the day memorizing Duncan’s picture and now summoned that image in my mind as I used spirit to reach out to him across the world of dreams, along with what little I knew about him. Duncan Mortimer, age 26, originally from Akron, asleep twelve miles from here. Over and over, I repeated that improvised mantra and concentrated on his face. Nothing happened immediately, and at first, I doubted my own abilities before accepting he might just be blocked as Sydney had been. Then, moments later, a third person materialized with us.

Tall and lanky, his face was a definite match for the picture I’d seen. That, and he was wearing that same horrendous tan outfit Sydney kept appearing in. He looked around with the kind of quizzical expression most people had when I summoned them for the first time, when they didn’t fully grasp that this wasn’t an ordinary dream.

“Huh,” he said. “Been a while since I dreamed.”

“This isn’t a dream,” I said, striding toward him. “At least, not the kind you’re thinking of. I created it out of spirit. Adrian Ivashkov.” I extended my hand to him. “I’m here to talk to you about Sydney Sage.”

Duncan’s expression still looked slightly amused, like this might all be some weird trick of his subconscious, when my words finally sunk in. “Oh, man. You’re him. The cute and brooding vampire boyfriend.”

“She said I was cute and brooding?” I asked. “Never mind. Why can’t I reach her? Where is she?”

“Some place I’ve never known anyone to came back from,” he said darkly. “A place I never knew actually existed until Emma saw it.”

“Who’s Emma?” asked Marcus, joining us.

Duncan looked a little surprised at seeing another person here but then seemed to write it off as part of this odd experience. “Sydney’s roommate. Ex-roommate, since Sydney has new accommodations.”

I was on the verge of a million more questions and then decided to go straight to the source. “Can you picture her? This Emma girl? Like, visualize her in your head and think about all you know about her.”

“Okay . . .” he said, a small frown appearing between his eyebrows.

If someone I’d brought into a dream could picture someone I’d never met, I could use spirit to reach out and use that visualization as the anchor to bring in the new person. It was no harder than pulling in someone I’d never met, so long as my subject’s mental focus was spot-on. Duncan’s must have been because a few moments later, a slim girl in those same khakis appeared beside him. We quickly caught her up, explaining what kind of dream she was in, which seemed to unnerve her more than it did him. Even liberal Alchemists had problems with vampire magic. But soon, her curiosity won out.